Red Alert
by Flashback 1701
Summary: Sequel to Guardian. Ludwig and Feliciano have been living under an assumed name in a small town in the United States to avoid any remaining underworld threats. But surely they didn't believe they could avoid the attentions of the Russian Mafia forever. AU
1. Chapter 1: Unhappy Birthdays

A/N: So... I said there wouldn't be a sequel. Apparently I lied.

I will admit that I love this universe, but this will probably be the last story I write in it. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I suggest you go read the first fic: "Guardian". Though this story could possibly be read on its own, there are going to be references and character details that will not make sense when read in this context.

Thank you everyone who enjoyed the first story, for you I have written this new addition.

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><p>Chapter 1: Unhappy Birthdays<p>

Gilbert grumbled, testily yanking a plastic jar of peanut butter (whatever the hell _that_ was) off the shelf. Here he was: former Beilschmidt guard, trained killer, _errand boy. _

Cramming the offensive item into his basket, he stomped down the aisle. Ever since he had moved into the middle of the middle of nowhere, life had gone straight down the tubes. His edgy, dangerous life had skidded to an unceremonious halt and he had been thrust into the depths of his younger brother's basement. Gilbert Beilschmidt, the greatest bodyguard to ever walk the planet, was living off of his little brother (and said sibling's boyfriend). It was disgraceful, really.

"Paper or plastic?" The teenaged girl at the checkout was friendly enough, smiling (if falsely) at the unhappy albino as he deliberated. Paper was biodegradable and much more useful, but plastic would be easier to carry. Which one would his brother choose? Paper?

"Plastic." Because if nothing else, the man knew how to stage a revolt.

"Oh, you live with Feli, don't you?" Now the girl was just annoying, having finally recognized him as one of the town's few foreigners (all of which lived in the same neighborhood). He nodded.

"Yup."

"And you're Ludwig's brother?"

"Gilbert B- Williams, that's me." Williams. _Williams. _They couldn't have even made it Wilhelm? Who the hell would believe the German-icity of that name?

"And you're from Germany?"

The cashier, apparently.

"Yeah, from Berlin. West… my brother's from Bonn, though. Y'know, the capital of West Germany? When there _was_ a West Germany, I mean."

"Wasn't that with the Berlin Wall…?"

"Yeah."

She finally finished bagging his purchased items, placing the two plastic bags within his reach. "Have a nice day, Mr. Williams."

"Yeah," he grunted, taking one in each hand. "Thanks."

As he walked out, Gilbert couldn't help thinking, _Call me Gilbert – I'm not _that _old. Not yet. _Twenty-six was far too early to be having a midlife crisis. Shoving the thick-rimmed glasses he had worn ever since they had settled down, he frowned – his eyesight was that of an albino, but his observations were sharper than the average man.

"You got the stuff?" Antonio called from the car, a white-toothed grin plastered to his face. "I was thinking was gonna have to come in after you, _tío._"

"Shut up, Toni." Dumping the groceries unceremoniously into the trunk of the pathetic, rust-spotted car, the German wrenched open one of the back doors.

Turning to glare at his former bodyguard, Lovino snorted, "What's up your ass?"

"Not Toni's dick, if that's what you mean," was the sharp retort. The Italian burned red.

"Ditch him, you Spanish bastard! Kick him out on the road!"

"But Lovi, I'm already out in traffic…"

"I don't give a fuck, dump the asshole right here!"

"I can't. Your brother was really excited about having dinner tonight and it would be a real shame if he missed it, you know?"

"What the fuck do you mean?"

An icy brick lodged itself in Gilbert's stomach as he remembered what day it was.

"Don't you remember, Lovi? It's the 18th of January!"

The man in the backseat groaned. "It's my birthday."

* * *

><p>"Ludwig!" Feliciano's voice rang out cheerfully from the kitchen, yanking the blond from his studies. In the wake of the events of the past summer, he had enrolled in an online college course and was currently working out a degree in simple mechanics – just enough to take a job in the small town garage two blocks away. Now, he was following the sound of his lover (and – for all intensive purposes – husband) calling his name.<p>

"What is it, Feliciano?" He stepped into the room still stretching the tightness from his muscles. With a quick giggle, the smaller man pecked at his cheek before answering.

"You know what today is, _si?_"

"The 18th of January."

"Do you know what it is to you?"

"Eh…"

"It's your birthday, silly!"

Blue eyes blinked before he nodded slowly. "Oh, right. I'd almost forgotten." Ludwig didn't have the heart to tell his excited lover that his true birthday was a total mystery to him, and that the 18th of January was simply the date assigned to him by the late Mr. Roma.

"Look, look! I've made all your favorites! Even the funny-tasting sausages…" Waving his arms towards the plates of food, Feliciano sighed happily. "And once Prussia gets home, we can all eat together!"

As though summoned at the utterance of his codename-turned-nickname, Gilbert slouched into the kitchen.

"I've got your shit 'n' stuff."

"Just put those by the pantry." Ludwig replied, frowning at the translucent plastic bags that held the items. "I'll take care of them later."

"And the beer?"

"Put it in the refrigerator."

As the older man pulled the appliance open to store the beer, Feliciano threw his arms around him fondly.

"Thanks for getting the groceries for us, Prussia."

"Don't mention it, kid."

Planting two grateful kisses on either of the albino's cheeks, the Italian skipped back to his blond companion's side once more. "Ludwig! Call everyone and tell them we're ready!"

* * *

><p>The Circle had once been the unofficialofficial title of the protective force in the Roma Household. Prior to its disbandment, it had served as a branch of the Italian Mafia and as a deadly efficient defense mechanism to preserve the safety of two persons: Feliciano and Lovino Roma-Vargas. Though both had been assigned fully capable Beilschmidt bodyguards, their home had been carefully maintained by an unlikely collection of skilled assassins and underground dealers to ensure maximum protection.

And that was how they had lived… until June of the previous year.

Following the death of the Mafia don, Romulus Roma, and his Beilschmidt guard, Odoacer, the remaining members of the Roma household had separated and gone into hiding. However, Feliciano – having received full rights to the entirety of his grandfather's fortune – did not escape the attentions of enemy mob bosses. Upon the discovery of his identity, he had been pursued by several and, thus, had been forced to take up refuge in the United States with only the company of his faithful guard, Ludwig. After a chaotic explosion of events, the two of them had settled into an inconspicuous town in the central portion of the North American nation only to be joined by five of their closest friends and relations.

On this particular day, this 18th of January, all seven of these former household members sat around the table in Feliciano and Ludwig's shared dining room. At either head of the table sat a birthday boy – Gilbert at one end, and Ludwig at the other – each flanked with the two people he was least likely to feel the urge to strangle by the end of the meal.

"How does twenty-two feel, Ludwig?" Elizabeta Hédévary was asking from her place between her husband and Feliciano. Though Gilbert insisted that she sit beside him (seeing as he was, in fact, the best looking man at the table), the his brother had wisely separated them so as to avoid her beating the albino senseless on his birthday.

"Not all too different," he said finally, reaching for his beer. "Maybe just a little less energetic."

"Aw, poor West's getting old. How long before he's gonna need a hip replacement?" Already having finished a six-pack on his own, Gilbert was well on his way to intoxication. Raising his bottle in the direction of his younger brother, he winked roguishly. "Pretty soon if he and Feli keep carrying on like they have been."

Antonio patted his friend on the back, giving Ludwig a look he dearly wished he could have ignored. "These Vargas brothers aren't half bad."

There was a brief scuffle as Lovino was restrained from leaping across the table to throttle the large blond to death. Then, glowering at his Spanish partner, he murmured something that sounded very much like, "sleeping on the couch tonight, damn bastard."

Cutting neatly into his sausage, Roderich felt much more uncomfortable than he would have liked and chose to say nothing.

Thus were the group dynamics, and how their lives may have continued if a medium-sized package hadn't burst through the dining room window and rolled across the table. The next eleven seconds were pure insanity.

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><p>AN: Sorry about the cliffhanger... (it seems that Guardian began with one as well ^^;)

Also, Gilbert's usage of the name "Williams" is not a pairing issue, it's the fact (given at the end of Guardian) that Ludwig and Feliciano have taken the name to escape the scrutiny of possible enemies. Gilbert's the older brother of Ludwig the supposed "husband" so, therefore, he uses "Williams" as well.


	2. Chapter 2: An Explosive Beginning

A/N: This chapter's a little choppy due to the chaotic events taking place. I apologize for that.

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><p>Chapter 2: An Explosive Beginning<p>

The moment Ludwig saw the bomb, he had seized Feliciano and all but flung him through the door that connected the dining room to the kitchen. After a fraction of a heartbeat that ensured that everyone else had taken precautionary measures, he had called out a final warning before throwing himself down on top of the confused Italian.

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><p>Swearing at the alcohol's hindrance to his usually razor-sharp reflexes, Gilbert had managed to pull Lovino down into the far corner of the room and positioned himself with his back to the table and his flushed face to the furious-looking brunet. Beside him, Antonio moved join them, green eyes wide with surprise even as he prepared for the worst.<p>

* * *

><p>Being closest to the window, Elizabeta had hauled her husband up by his shirt and forced him backwards off the sill. Following him out, she landed neatly on her feet before sending a trained glance around the vicinity. They had exited the same window the bomb had entered and, therefore, the assailant had to be somewhere near by.<p>

It was dusk, the light just starting to fade into a gray shade that seemed to swallow the snow-covered street. Squinting in the murky twilight, she just barely made out the figure of a woman standing in the road. The setting sun shone dully off her platinum locks as they hung down her back, and when she turned, her pale face was shadowed and sinister.

"Stop!" The word had barely left the Hungarian's lips when the shockwave of a ground-shaking detonation struck her between the shoulder blades and sent her flailing face down into a snowdrift. Ears ringing and body eerily numb, she struggled to summon the strength to right herself when she caught a snatch of foreign words settling on the suddenly still air.

After a moment of jumbled confusion augmented by the screams coming from the house behind her, she puzzled out that the woman in the road must have been speaking, and she had done so in Russian.

"For my brother," she had said before vanishing completely.

* * *

><p>The first to recover from the blast had been the Italian brothers who had both blinked up at the faces of their protectors in a stunned sort of awe. The moment the initial shock had worn off, the tears had come.<p>

"Ludwig!"

"G-get up you bastards, you're… you're crushing me."

Thinking he'd heard his lover's voice, Ludwig stirred. Dazed slightly by the force of the explosion and by the curious lack of feeling that haunted his appendages, the former guard silently screamed at his body to respond enough to roll off of Feliciano in case he injured him any more. Eventually he succeeded.

"L-Ludwig, Ludwig, are you ok-kay?" Shaking hands brushed his face, as sightless blue eyes searched for the owner.

"Feliciano? Feliciano, are you hurt?" he asked loudly, the (hopefully temporary) deafness setting in.

The gentle fingers were withdrawn and a low shriek shattered the German's already damaged eardrums.

* * *

><p><em>So this is an out of body experience. <em>Antonio was thinking calmly, a strange sense of tranquility blanketing him as he stared down at his own battered flesh. A piece of what may have once been a chair was jutting from his back like a Halloween costume prop. _Ay, that's gonna hurt a whole lot if I ever get back in there._

"Breathe you bastard!" Below the drifting Spaniard, Lovino was screaming with his hands balled up in the other's bloodied shirt. "Goddammit, don't die on me!"

_He sounds so terrible screaming like that, _was a sorrowful thought as Antonio listened to his lover's frantic orders. Voice cracking with tears, fury, and a hint of insanity, the Italian tried again.

"Don't you ignore me! I know you're listening! Fuck!"

_Don't cry, Lovino… You're making me feel bad._

Lying on his stomach with empty eyes to the panicked man, Antonio drew in a shuddering breath.

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><p>The first thing that crossed Gilbert's slowly rebooting mind was, "This has got to be the worst fucking birthday in the history of the world." The second was something along the lines of, "I'm gonna hurt like a bitch once the shock's worn off."<p>

Ears ringing and head attempting to float off his shoulders, he pulled himself away from the wall and tasted blood. The wallpaper against which his brow had rested was stained with the stuff. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that the third thing to cross his mind was, "Damn. That's mine, isn't it?"

Pressing an awkward hand to what he hoped was the wound, he staggered to his feet. Vision blurring unnaturally, suddenly worse that his poor albino vision had been prior to his wearing glasses, he managed to discern his brother and Feliciano in the doorway to the kitchen. Beside him, Lovino was screaming something to a prone Antonio. Elizabeta and Roderich were nowhere to be found.

"Liz?" He hoped he'd spoken correctly, unable to hear the familiar name leave his tongue. "Liz? Where are you?"

Tripping over the remnants of the table, Gilbert fell to his hands and knees where his flesh was met with broken glass. Beer bottles.

"Shit."

* * *

><p>The emergency vehicles arrived quickly (it was, after all, a very small town), and the Europeans were tended to by a different kind of trained professionals. Within minutes, Antonio had been taken away in the ambulance, Lovino still clutching his hand.<p>

The remaining Circle members gathered in a small queue before the smoking form of Ludwig and Feliciano's ranch-style home. Eventually the ringing in their ears ceased.

"What happened?" was, undisputedly, everyone's primary concern. "Who threw the bomb? Who knew we were here?"

"A Russian did." Elizabeta answered, "A woman. She was standing in the road when it went off. She must have had a getaway vehicle of some sort."

"How did they find us?" Roderich asked, cradling his ruined spectacles as though they had been his firstborn son.

Brow furrowing, Ludwig whispered, "I saw one of them at the hospital."

"When?" the Hungarian demanded.

"When I went to visit Gilbert after… after he was shot last June."

"Why were they…?"

"He warned me that they wouldn't stop hunting us." He lowered his fair head to massage his temples, trying to hide his dismayed expression. "I believed us to be safe here, but clearly…"

"You were wrong," the brunet man finished shortly. Turning to Gilbert, he asked, "Are you alright? You haven't said a thing, and I'm beginning to believe you swallowed your tongue in the explosion."

"It's not…" Words failed the albino before he managed to choke out, "It's not pitch black out here… is it?"

His inflection told them all that he already knew the answer.

"We're sitting by the fire truck, Prussia," Feliciano spoke up softly, legs swinging restlessly from his perch on the hood of Antonio's pathetic excuse for a car. "And the lights are flashing really bright…"

"It's probably just from hitting your head." Speaking quickly, Ludwig insisted, "It's probably temporary. I lost my vision, too, for a moment. Just don't…"

"Panic?" A hint of a smile could be heard as Gilbert opened his mouth again. "I'm too tired for that, West. Just gimme a few beers and a good football match and I'll be fine."


	3. Chapter 3: Recoveries and Revelations

A/N: I _think _I have the timezones correct in this, but if not... I guess we'll just pretend. ^^;

This chapter presents our first look at the motives of the Russian mafia, and our noble cast begins calling on favors... just wait until you find out who the other member of the Beilschmidt family is (in the next chapter)!

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><p>Chapter 3: Recoveries and Revelations<p>

"His condition's still shaky, but I think he'll pull through." The doctor's voice, though genuinely relieved, grated on Lovino's nerves. He wanted to scream at the man, to hit him with his fists, and to sob uncontrollably at the foot of the gurney that held his… his… that _bastard _Antonio who had so nearly left him behind. Just like everyone else.

"And how long before he recovers?" He tried not to sound sullen or petulant, it just happened sometimes. "Well?"

"Your, uh, Mr. Fernandez… Carriedo is going to have to stay here for awhile. A month at least."

"But he'll definitely live?"

"Well, I'm fairly certain. His breathing is becoming more regular, and we've got the laceration in his back sealed up. It's a miracle, actually, seeing as the shrapnel only pierced through his flesh and lodged between his ribs without going any further. It was barely an inch from his heart…"

"Oh my God…" The Italian's hand flew up to cover his mouth as his stomach churned.

Recognizing the paling of the other's face, the doctor stopped his musings immediately. "Ah, I apologize. Sometimes I just start rambling and… ah, there I go again."

He laughed nervously – sheepishly – then coughed.

"Thanks, I guess." Lovino whispered, unable to look up at the man. "I really… I really appreciate it, okay?"

"Anytime, Mr. Vargas." He consulted his clipboard and bobbed his head amiably. "I'm here to serve."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, at the Edelstein-Hédévary residence, Roderich was making a very important phone call to an old friend in Bern.<p>

"Hello?"

"Vash."

"Roderich? Why are you calling? What time is it there?"

"It's about 23 30."

"Why are you calling?" the Swiss man repeated irritably.

"The Russians have made a move at us."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "They've attacked?"

"Yes."

"How did they find you?"

Roderich kneaded at the bare bridge of his nose. "We don't know… which is why we've decided to call you. Does your sister still do that computer thing?"

"Hack?" He snorted, unimpressed. "Of course she does. She's been using that to protect the bank from other assholes who want in."

"Could she be coerced into helping us?"

"You mean, will I ask her to help you?"

Knowing his friend and onetime business partner was a tough sell, the Austrian said nothing.

"I'll see what I can do. We're still in debt to Roma, after all."

"Thank you, Vash."

"Let's get it straight, Roderich, I'm not doing this for you."

He could almost see Vash's face: red and indignant. "That's fine."

"So long as you understand."

"Of course."

"Well, then, I'll call you if we get any new developments."

"Good-bye, Vash."

"What's he say?" Ludwig was standing in the doorway, arms crossed anxiously over his chest. "Will they help us?"

"Yes." Roderich slid his cell phone shut. "And on your end?"

Looking as though embarrassed at being caught, the broad-shouldered man cleared his throat. "I called Alfred and Matthew… they're on the next flight over."

"Good."

"Have we heard any news on Antonio?"

"Not yet." The brunet's lips curled into a slight scowl. "This attack… it's strange."

"I don't think they intended to kill any of us, either." Ludwig agreed to the unspoken statement. "I think they want us to know that they've found us."

"And to incapacitate us?"

Considering this, the former guard shrugged. "Psychologically more than anything. If this head is anything like I suspect he is, he will test us repeatedly, but he'll wait until we are physically strong to attack us head on. He's playing a game, and it's our turn now to strike back."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Ivan was lounging in his office in Moscow. The papers in his hands were covered with the details concerning weapon and drug shipments, but went largely ignored as he awaited his sister's report via webcam.<p>

The Belorussian had made a stunning recovery and had thrown herself whole-heartedly into the effort to relocate the missing Italian heir and his infamous bodyguard. Though she desired nothing more than to kill them both, Ivan had reigned her in. With the collapse of the two other major threats to his livelihood (namely the Italian mafia and the Chinese triad), there was plenty of room for the expansion of Russian bratva. The platinum blond tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the richly finished surface of his desk.

"Toris?"

"Sir?" The brown-haired Lithuanian entered the room from his post just outside. His hands were already shaking, making Ivan's grin widen threateningly.

"You will bring some tea, yes?" the boss asked sweetly, the sugar in his tone carrying with it the threat of cyanide. "I am thinking that breakfast is in order."

His subordinate shuddered and nodded, leaving without another word.

"Brother?"

Turning to his laptop, Ivan fought the urge to flinch as he smiled at his sister's image. "Ah, Natalya, how are you?"

"I will be better once I am able to return to your side."

"Ah," he spoke a tad faster than usual. "But someone is needing to monitor the situation from that side, yes?"

"I suppose." Natalya set her lips petulantly. "And why do you refer to me so formally? We're family, brother. Natasha will suffice."

"Very well, Natasha, then." Silently regaining his composure, the Russian continued, "No casualties, I hope?"

"One taken to the hospital. The Spaniard."

"He is of little importance to us."

"The white-haired one seems to be injured, too."

"How so?" Ivan smirked. This little "throwing of the gauntlet" had already managed to injure one with Beilschmidt training? Interesting. "Is it very serious?"

"I was too far away to hear," she responded. "But I think it is affecting his vision."

"A wounded Spaniard and a blinded German… this is becoming such fun."

From her motel room in America, Natalya felt her heart swell at the unadulterated delight in her brother's voice. The wistful smile on his face was reminiscent of a boy she'd known only in the past, but the glint in his eyes warned the world otherwise. However, for this joy she would happily destroy any obstacle that kept him from this splendid new game. Forcing herself to remain outwardly stoic, she inclined her head. "When will we carry out the next stage?"

"Later." He wagged a finger almost playfully at her. "The other team must have a turn before we strike again, yes?"


	4. Chapter 4: Calling on Favors

A/N: Introducing new characters and a new chapter! Ah, I hope you all enjoy it - I'll just be working on creating an actual plot... ^^;

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><p>Chapter 4: Calling on Favors<p>

"Are you gonna tell me why you're packing your bags, Al, or am I gonna have to ask myself?" Matthew had just arrived at their apartment, eyes tired and with the traces of blood spatter on his face. "It's one thirty in the morning, can't this wait?"

"Dude, the Ruskies are back!" his brother answered him quickly. Tossing his twin a duffle bag, he waved his hands. "Quick, pack up your stuff 'cuz we're heading out on the next flight."

"Where's the money coming from, eh?" Grumbling bitterly, somewhat cranky from having been out working much of the night, the younger blond accepted the duffle and began to empty his dresser into it. "Do they have weapons there?"

"Yeah, Ludwig says he's got all that shit." Wrestling the zipper shut on his own luggage, Alfred grinned. "I'll go start the car – there's someone we've gotta pick up before we leave."

* * *

><p>The stoic blond sat at the kitchen table, pondering the phone call he'd received. Now, there were two decisions he could make: accept the plea and fly to the states, or ignore it and return to bed where his partner was still sleeping soundly. It was a chilly night, and the cozy companionship of bed sheets and shared body heat sounded heavenly, but guilt had already set in to the pit of his stomach. Just because he hadn't received the name didn't mean that he hadn't been trained by the family, didn't mean that he could just look the other way when they called.<p>

"Mm… Berwald? Are you still up?" Tino Väinämöinen emerged from the bedroom, yawning and rubbing at his eyes in a manner better suited to a sleepy child than to a full grown man. Now he looked the furthest thing from the skilled politician he was.

"G'back t' sleep." Stretching up to unfurl his impressive height, Berwald Oxenstierna sighed and ruffled the other's soft, pale locks. "I jus' g't a bus'n'ss c'll… gotta go t' th' States."

"The States?" Deep, indigo eyes locked onto cerulean. "What business?"

"It's a f'mily th'ng."

"I didn't know you had family in America."

"Kinda." The Swede leaned forward to plant a quick kiss to the other's brow. "T'ke care 'f P'ter wh'le 'm gone, 'kay?"

"Call me when you get there."

"I w'll."

* * *

><p>Sighing heavily, the elder Beilschmidt buried his face in his hands.<p>

"Are you okay, Prussia?" Feliciano yawned, body warm with sleep as he propped himself up against the albino. As of now, they were seated on the couch as everyone else made phone calls and drew weapons from hidden safes. Even Ludwig had managed to salvage two or three handguns from the wreckage of their home.

"Huh?" Hearing his petname, Gilbert jerked his head to the side. Then he sighed, ruefully fingering the wound at the front of his head. When the shockwave had gone out, he had been thrown headlong into the wall where his brow had split and – as far as he could tell – his vision had begun to fail. That had been about four hours ago.

"It's temporary, Gilbert," his brother had assured him. Even then, sensitive ears had picked out the slight flicker of doubt in his words. _You mean it's _probably _temporary. It _might _be permanent._

"Are you okay?" The Italian was more awake now, squirming beside the man. Unlike Ludwig, Gilbert had a more streamlined body with a musculature that reminded one more of a lanky, predatory cat. "You're being really quiet."

"I'm just thinking." Sure, he was thinking. Wasn't that what everyone said when they didn't want to talk? That they were "thinking"?

"About what?"

"I dunno. Not being able to see, I guess."

"Ludwig said your eyes will get better, and I believe in Ludwig." He felt Feliciano beaming through his words. "He's never given me any reason not to."

"Right."

"I'm serious!" Apparently the brunet had heard the restlessness in the other's voice, and playfully flailed at the ex-guard's shoulder. "Ludwig's really reliable!"

"Feliciano? Gilbert?" The blond walked into the room, his heavy footfalls alerting his brother before he even spoke. "Why are you two still awake?"

"Well, gee, maybe it's 'cuz we're sitting on a fucking couch at Roddy's place." Gilbert snapped, feeling his frayed nerves giving way. "Why're _you_ still awake?"

"We were securing the area," was the level answer followed by a brief hesitation. "We would have asked you to-"

"But I'm blind, right? Helen freaking Keller."

"Hey, don't be dissing on Helen Keller! She's an American hero!" An obnoxiously familiar manner of speech accompanied the noise of the front door being pulled open. "Better watch yourself, Beilschmidt, or things could get really ugly!"

"Alfred!" Feliciano leapt to his feet, embracing the beaming, blond youth. "And your brother, too. It's so good to see you both!"

"I have a name…" the younger twin muttered from behind Alfred, bearing with him their luggage.

Stepping forward to shake their hands, Ludwig inclined his head. "You arrived sooner than I expected."

"We hopped on the first plane outta New York. A good guy can't ditch a friend in need!"

"Since when are you 'good guys'?" came the sour retort, aiming for a nerve. The albino glared unnervingly in the direction of the twins, though his eyes travelled beyond and seemed more fixed on the doorframe behind them.

"You said it yourself, man," Alfred piped up, sensing the other was in a foul mood. "It's them and us, right? Well, I guess the fact that we're part of 'Team Us' makes us the good guys."

"And who could forget the most handsome member of that team?" In a voice like red velvet, the unmistakable mob of wavy blond popped up behind the Americans. "It's been awhile, _non?_"

"France!" Crying out in delight, Feliciano threw himself forward to tackle the chef into a fond embrace. "I thought you had a restaurant! In New York!"

"Why, I do, _mon cher._" Francis placed a kiss on either of the Italian's cheeks, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, before drawing back to observe him with sparkling blue eyes. "But I think that family matters are somewhat more important."

Ludwig stepped forward to gather the slender brunet into his arms, cautiously studying the Frenchman. "And how are you, Francis?"

"Quite well, Ludwig, but what is this I hear of our dear Prussian friend? Is it true he has been, how you say… blinded?"

"Blind not deaf, dumbass." Raising a rude finger in the newcomer's direction, Gilbert snorted, "I right here, y'know."

"Very well, I hear you've been blinded."

"Thank God or I would've had to put up with seeing your damn ugly mug again." The contempt in his tone was only partially feigned. "How's city life?"

"Loud, colorful…" The man shrugged in a gesture that his friend couldn't see. "Not as intense as our old lifestyle, but I suppose it isn't bad."

"I thought I heard someone come in." Roderich entered the room, gazing warily at the three standing with their backs practically to the door. "Shoes off at the door."

"Yessir," the elder American mock saluted, kicking his unlaced sneakers carelessly onto the spotless carpet. "Permission to enter?"

"He's worse than _you._" A sharp, pointed look jabbed accusingly at Gilbert before the owner realized the futility of the action and attempted to amend himself by tacking the other's name lamely to the end of the sentence.

"Don't worry," the albino grumbled in response. "I can _feel _your bitchy vibes."

"S-so is this it?" Hoping to change the subject, Matthew raised his voice to be heard. "I mean, people… do we have any other reinforcements?"

"One more." Ludwig replied quickly, surprising everyone else in the room. When the other Europeans turned to raise their brows at him, he continued. "A family member… of sorts."

"Oh, you needed a replacement for me?" His brother sounded almost hurt.

"Well, at least until your vision returns."

"Who?"


	5. Chapter 5: An Acquaintance

A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I've updated anything. I've been kind of drifting in a writer's block, so not much has been finished. I'm considering discontinuing Royal Purple, wrapping up Itaria no Hibi, and really focusing on getting to the end of Tumble Through Time. With those out of the way, I'll be able to focus on this story and the Gilbert/Prussia-centric multichapter I've been writing in my spare time. ^^;

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><p>Chapter 5: An Acquaintance<p>

As Gilbert was hustled through the less-than-crowded airport, he was forced to cling to his brother's arm like some lost child. Though he still wore his obnoxious, black-framed glasses perched upon his pale nose, it didn't change the fact that, thirteen hours after the incident, he was still completely blind. At least bats had echolocation.

In the car on the way over, he had heard Feliciano point out random bits of scenery with thoughtless statements like, "Look, Prussia! Horses!" This would be met with a stony silence and an awkward sense of not knowing what to say to break the tension. He was sure the Americans had a phrase for this, the… the "elephant in the room". Yes, that was it. He, Gilbert Beilschmidt, was a big, fat, albino elephant in a room the size of a public restroom cubicle.

"Watch it!" someone hissed as a blindly swinging foot came into contact with a very solid leg. Through his grip on his sibling, Gilbert could feel Ludwig wincing at the stranger's ignorance.

"So, when's he coming in?" the older male asked, eyes darting uselessly about. "Does this airport even get international flights?"

"I believe he's flying in from Chicago, _Bruder._"

"Right."

"I'm hungry, Ludwig…" Feliciano piped up suddenly. Gilbert could practically see the look of desperation on his face as he pouted. "We haven't eaten since we left home this morning!"

This was met with a low rumble from the blonde man. "Mm, well, I suppose it _is_ about noon. Do you see anywhere to eat?"

"Oh yeah, West." Sarcastically, the albino waved his arm in a general direction. "Isn't there a pizza place back there?"

"How'd you know that, Prussia?" came the awed gasp of the Italian.

"I'm just spectacular."

"And he could probably _smell_ the grease and tomato sauce."

They turned sharply, making for the American-style pizza establishment.

"I bet I could make better pizza than they have." Feliciano noted, not unkindly. Gilbert felt his brother shrug, sensed the air of pride mixed with embarrassment.

"I don't doubt it."

"Mm… maybe I should work at a pizza parlor!"

The elder Beilschmidt chuckled. "I love you, kid, but you'd be the worst delivery boy ever."

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><p>When they had finished eating (and Ludwig's stomach had been sent into fits of food-related distress), the three made their way to the terminal where the fourth man was scheduled to appear.<p>

"What's he like, Ludwig?" Feliciano had asked the moment they'd settled into the provided leather seats. "The other Beilschmidt, I mean… is he like you and Prussia?"

Nodding his head, the blonde replied, "More or less. But, for one thing, Berwald isn't from Germany – he's actually Swedish."

"But isn't the Beilschmidt family German?"

"German_ic_, Feli," Gilbert corrected, shrugging. "It's more of a general region sort of thing."

"Oh…"

"As for details concerning his personality… I really only met him a few times in passing. Gilbert was the one who was trained in his group."

"There are groups now?" The Italian's slender fingers fell to his temples as he struggled to put the pieces together. "Um, I think you might've mentioned something like that before…"

"For the honor of holding the family name and guarding a Roma, there would be a group of three or more candidates." Ludwig explained patiently.

"For example, I trained with two other guys," his brother continued. "Friedrich and Berwald. Any of us could've ended up with the title and the chance to defend Lovino, but I finished out on top – like I do – and the other two were retired and went off to do whatever the hell they wanted."

"Oh, okay." Tilting his head forward to cradle his chin in his hands, Feliciano hummed. "So what's he like, then, Prussia?"

"Well, he's tall. Maybe even taller than West, now. I mean, last I saw him, we were thirteen."

"He's tall. What else, _Bruder?_"

"Doesn't say a whole lot… I get the feeling he's got a speech impediment or something."

"Why do you say that?"

"Whenever he _did_ talk, he'd mumble."

"'S b'n a l'ng t'me, G'lb'rt."

"Yeah, kinda like that!"

When Feliciano turned to discover the source of the deep voice, he found himself in very close proximity to a man several centimeters taller than Ludwig with an even more intense gaze. The Italian squealed wordlessly.

"Ah, he's right there, isn't he?" Gilbert shoved his useless glasses up his nose sheepishly. "How're you, Berwald?"

The man called Berwald inclined his head, deep blue eyes peering sharply through a pair of rectangular spectacles. "C'n't c'mplain. You?"

"Blind… been better." He straightened up, casting a meaningful look to the space just left of the new arrival. "Anyway, you remember Ludwig, right?"

"I do."

"Berwald." Leaning forward to take the other man's hand, Ludwig realized that the Swede towered effortlessly over him. It was humbling, not to mention extremely unnerving. "Good to see you."

"'Nd you."

"Um… I-I'm Feliciano!" When he saw his faithful protector interacting so bravely with Berwald, the brunette decided that he would try it for himself. "It's nice to meet you!"

"'M Berw'ld Ox'nst'rna," the blonde might have almost smiled as he offered a hand. "'S a pl's're, Mr.V'rg's."

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><p>Tino had never been terribly nosy – he'd always allowed his husband a good deal of privacy in his personal affairs – however, this family business seemed suspicious enough to warrant a good deal of research. Straightening his jacket and brushing a few wrinkles from the sleeves, the young politician decided that today would be a good day to meet with an old friend who had quite the talent for tracking down useful information.<p>

"Dad? Where's Papa gone?" Peter had asked from the breakfast table, not even sparing his meal of eggs, sausage, and oatmeal the slightest glance. A worried look appeared on his childish face, revealing his inner panic. He'd been abandoned by family once before, and didn't wish for it to happen again.

"Ah, he's got some work in America to take care of." His second father tightened his necktie, pulling it a tad too snug before adjusting it. "He said he'd be back soon."

"How soon?" Poking at his cereal, the boy didn't meet the other's eyes.

Tino smiled as he shoved back his own apprehension in favor of comforting his son. He knew that Peter's former family had left him when he was still quite young, and that this fact had been something that his husband had sought so desperately to remedy. There had been something about the boy's lonely existence that had called to Berwald, and that was just one of the things the Fin loved about him.

"He didn't say," he said gently, watching his son's head droop in despair. "A week, maybe two tops."

"Oh…"

Gripping Peter's hand in his own, Tino offered a reassuring grin. "You know Papa – he'll be back."


	6. Chapter 6: Unexpected Connections

A/N: Warning for Character Death. (I can't say who because it will ruin the element of the chapter, but I will say that it's not one of the main characters. Also, I'm really sorry for having killed him off...) Also, some backstory on Tino. This is taking a step back to examine some other parts of the story.

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><p>Chapter 6: Unexpected Connections<p>

"You're jumpy today, Ed. Is something wrong?" Tino glanced over the table at his friend, the blonde fumbling anxiously with his coffee cup.

Eduard von Bock shook his head and laughed loudly to cover his apprehension. "Nothing's wrong – why would you ask that?"

"You've been fiddling with you glasses ever since you sat down, and you're looking over your shoulder every other minute. It's not the Russi-"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

A threatening aura seemed to radiate from the generally harmless-looking Scandinavian, his knuckles whitening with the grip on his ceramic coffee cup even as his expression remained cheerful and upbeat. "You're not still working with _him,_ are you?"

Flinching back, the Estonian burst out, "Business's been bad, really bad! I can't avoid him, Tino! Honest!"

"I see."

Eduard winced inwardly. It was no secret that the Fin's family had been hunted and killed by the bratva; Tino's father had spearheaded a political movement to cast out the underworld influences that were creeping into the government. Now, eleven years later, his son was following in his ill-fated footsteps. Despite his friend's urgent warnings of the dangers, the politician showed no sign of slowing or giving in – not even with his husband and son at risk.

"He'll come after them first," he'd said before, having seen the man at work. "He'll find them and kill them, Tino. He'll leave you with nothing left, please stop this!"

"Berwald will protect me," Tino had insisted, a knowing glint in his pale indigo eyes.

Eduard doubted any man could serve as sufficient defense against his master, not even the tall, intimidating Swede.

"H-how's Berwald been?" he asked, failing spectacularly at sounding untroubled. His friend's lips tightened, and he set aside his coffee mug with a little more force that was probably necessary.

"That's what I need you to find for me." Tino dug a few papers from his satchel and placed them on the circular surface of the café table. "I need you to tell me what you can find about his family."

Already typing, the Estonian nodded. "His surname's Oxenstierna, right?"

"Search Beilschmidt," the Fin said suddenly. "He took Oxenstierna as his name when he didn't earn the rights to bear the Beilschmidt title."

"B-Beilschmidt?" Eduard paled, fingers ceasing their frenzied key-striking in favor of twitching nervously midair. "As in the guardian family?"

Tino's kind eyes narrowed, spotting with his unerring politician's eye that his friend knew more than he was telling. "They aren't involved with your bratva, are they?"

The blonde's hands clenched emptily above his laptop as he gnawed at his lower lip to buy time. If he said a word, it was certain that Ivan would find out. The words danced on his lips, assuring him that it would be simple to blurt out what he knew. He could already hear himself speaking, leaking information to this most determined of opponents.

A gentle hand on his own drew him back to the present, drawing his wary eyes to the other man's warm smile.

"I know it's a risk for you to tell me, Ed, but I'd really appreciate it if you did."

"I… you know I can't, Tino. I shouldn't even be out here with you today. If Ivan even finds out-"

Concern flickered across the Fin's boyish features. "Why do you want to live like this? Aren't you tired of always being afraid?"

"It's not about being tired or afraid," Eduard sighed heavily, not even trying to return the grin. "It's about not being dead."

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><p>"Their pawns are set and their first move has been made," Ivan mused, fingering the white king piece he'd plucked from the chessboard in his office. By calling in their reinforcements, the Circle members had all but accepted his challenge. A good choice, too, for games were never quite so much fun if one was forced to play alone.<p>

"S-sir?" A trembling Raivas stood in the doorway, small hands clenched before him. "A c-call from y-you s-sister."

"But I was just speaking to her this morning." His eyes narrowed sharply, demanding an explanation.

"N-no, not Miss Natalya," the boy clarified. "I-it's your other s-sister, sir."

A genuine smile graced the crime lord's face and, simultaneously sent shivers down his subordinate's back. "Ah, Katyusha! What was it she was needing?"

"I-I don't know. Sh-she says she w-wants t-to talk t-to you p-personally, sir."

"Very well. Bring me the line."

"Vanya!" Ekaterina's sweet voice rang from the handset and seemed to envelope Ivan in familiar embrace the moment it struck his ears. "You haven't called me in so long that I was beginning to worry!"

"I am sorry, Katyusha, I have been very busy." His tone was softer than usual, almost affectionate, as he fiddled absently with the handgun lying atop a stack of drug reports. "How have you been?"

"I got a new job!"

"Would you not allow me to pay your expenses so that you could return home? I am a fairly wealthy man now, and I could make your debtors look the other way."

"No, no." His sister was adamant, as she always was, and her answer was firm. "I will pay off my own debts through my own hard work."

"If you say so." Ivan wished more than anything that she would just disclose the names of those to whom she owned money. He was quite certain that if he knew them, he could make them drop all interest in collecting his sister's meager earnings. "Where is your job this time? I believe our last phone call was taken from… Wisconsin?"

"I'm a little further down now," Ekaterina admitted sheepishly. "And I'm working in a school food service now… I serve lunch to the children, how they call a 'lunch lady.'"

"Are you treated well?"

"Of course!" She giggled. "All of the students are very kind, especially the young men! They are all so attentive and sweet to me."

"I am sure." Gripping the pistol in a deadly vise, her brother fought the rising urge to venture to America to claw the eyes from the sockets of those perverted, lowlife bastards for looking so indecently at his sister (as he was certain they were).

"How is your work going, Vanya? You are still an accountant, yes?"

"Of course," he answered smoothly.

Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut and voices began to rise in pitch and volume. Feeling his temper like a burning fuse, the crime lord stood suddenly.

"Katyusha, please, might I call you back at some other time?"

The door to Ivan's office swung open to reveal a smirking, blond Pole who pointed a well-manicured finger at him in full accusation.

"Yes, it is fine." She made a soft puckering noise with her lips. "Kisses, Vanya. God bless."

"And you."

The handset clicked onto the platform as deadly amethysts were raised to bore into the intruder.

"I believe we had a deal." Ivan spoke slowly, letting the icy edge of his words cut slowly into the tension that had been building the moment the other man had appeared.

"Like, this isn't a social visit, Ivan," Feliks warned him. Planting his knuckles firmly to his hips, he harrumphed dramatically. "Like, I know you totally had something to do with that Roman guy biting the dust last summer or whatever."

A mockingly innocent sneer slid across the Russian's pale face. "I assure you that I have not the slightest idea-"

"The assassin was, like, totally on your payroll. I can totally prove it, too."

"In that case, I would be very careful where you tread, comrade." He cast his gentle gaze down to his desk where the handgun was waiting. Caressing it, he lifted the weapon to shoulder height. "Or, perhaps, I might be tempted to correct your memory with a bullet."

"Like, don't you wish you could stop me?" Tossing his chin-length locks in an openly defiant manner, Feliks let out an irritatingly jarring laugh. "I totally way out smarted you this ti-"

All six shots were fired into the Pole's chest, tearing into his flesh and setting his pearly ribcage on full display. Without hesitation, Ivan returned the pistol to its proper place in the top, right-hand drawer and called for Toris and Raivas.

"Take care of the mess," was the order when they arrived, the brunette man's face paling satisfyingly at the grisly sight. "I have no use for the stupid traitors or the loud-mouthed ones who are disillusioned enough to challenge me to my face."

"Y-yes sir," Toris whispered, not meeting his boss' gaze. "Of course."


	7. Chapter 7: Family

A/N: It has been quite literally_ ages_ since I last updated this. The good news? I actually have a storyline written down and am currently developing it as we speak... or, as you read, rather. The bad news? I probably won't be able to update too often seeing as I have school and most of my attention has been thrown into the writing of "Through These Albino Eyes" (I'm in love with that story...).

Please enjoy this new chapter!

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><p>Chapter 7: Family<p>

Evening was settling slowly for the Circle, bringing with it the whisper of a threat from a distant (though deadly) figure and the reminder of the events of the previous night. Ludwig sighed heavily as he emerged from the kitchen bearing the steaming plates of what was to be a shared supper with Feliciano.

"How's Antonio?" he asked quietly, seating himself in one of the chairs of Roderich's uncomfortable dining set and placing the pasta before the smaller man. "Any news?"

"He's stable." The uncharacteristically gloomy tone worried the blonde. When Feliciano lifted his troubled gaze to him, he saw that his eyes were full of tears. "Is it my fault, Ludwig?"

"Your fault?" Ludwig was taken aback. "How could you be to blame for his injury?"

After poking wordlessly at the food, the Italian whispered, "It's me the Russians want, isn't it? My money and influence?"

"Feliciano…" Surprised at the depths of the other's worries, the larger man took his hand into his own. "You can't blame yourself for what happened. We all knew there would be a risk of living here."

"What if I ran away and hid from all of you? Would you all be safe then?"

Resolve and terror swirled in the honey-toned depths of the brunette's eyes as he gazed mournfully up at his lover, successfully sending sharp pains shooting through Ludwig's broad chest.

"Would you?"

"No." Without a moment of hesitation, he leaned forward and gently caught Feliciano's lips with his.

There was a pause, then Feliciano pulled away. "B-but, Ludwig…"

"No matter what happens, I can't be separated from you," he whispered, cupping the other's face. "It's my oath… both for duty and for (here he brought in a shallow inhale) love."

"But if something happens to you, I'll-"

"Nothing will happen to me, Feliciano." Ludwig promised, ice-blue eyes holding all the steel and determination on the day that they'd first met. "You're the one we are defending, after all."

Before the Italian could reply, Roderich swept into the room.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked almost irritably, observing the two men in such close proximity as they were. Withdrawing his hand from Feliciano's cheek, the German got to his feet.

"What is it, Roderich?"

"Vash called." Lifting his cell phone to the others, the Austrian cleared his throat. "He has some information that might come in handy."

"Such as?"

"It would seem that Ivan has two sisters." Roderich sensed Ludwig beginning to question the relevance of such a statement, and raised a stern finger to silence him. "One, the younger of the three, is involved in his Mafiya schemes. The eldest, Ekaterina, is the one of interest to us."

The blonde crossed thick arms across his chest and waited for what he hoped (for Roderich's sake) would be a reasonable explanation.

"Ekaterina works in a school in the next state over."

Feliciano tapped anxiously at his lover's shoulder, expression troubled. "W-we're not going to kill her… are we?"

"Of course not," the answer was unhesitant and sharp. "But we may need to move and use her as a sort of… bargaining chip."

"Not cool." Alfred appeared in the doorway, munching on something stolen from the kitchen and looking vaguely scandalized. "A hero can't use a woman for dastardly plots – it's against the rules!"

"Since when are there rules?" In a flat voice, Ludwig grumbled, "And since when do they apply to you?"

"Y'know, you've got a point there." Shoving his glasses back up his nose, the American laughed. "What's this lucky lady look like, anyway?"

"Like this."

The touch screen of the cellular device displayed a modestly pretty young woman with short, platinum hair, kind eyes, and…

"Those are some serious 'tracts of land'," Alfred pointed out shamelessly, open hands gesturing roundly to his chest area. "No way those are real…"

Ignoring him, the Austrian thumbed through the pictures until he held the phone out again, announcing, "And this is the younger sister, Natalya."

The color seemed to drain from the energetic blonde's face, making him appear almost to have been frozen into a marble statue of himself.

"You recognize her?" Ludwig asked, vigilantly watching Feliciano eat from the corner of his eye lest he choke to death on the leftover noodles.

"She was at the school last June." Licking nervously at his dry lips, Alfred added, "I shot her when she tried to kill Francis."

"Clearly you didn't do a very good job of it," the German grunted. Tapping a finger thoughtfully at his square chin, he mused, "Ask Elizabeta if she recognizes this woman – she said the bomber last night was one of the Russians. Maybe it's this Natalya."

"Right." Roderich straightened his spectacles and marched stiffly from the room, leaving the two blondes with Feliciano.

"Your brother's not doing so hot," Alfred informed Ludwig, taking a seat across from them and kicking his heels up onto the table in an action that made the former guard wince inwardly. "I mean, he's briefing Ber-whatisface right now, but he's seriously bummed about the blindness thing."

"Do you really blame him?" Bringing a forkful of pasta to his own lips, Ludwig sighed.

"Don't worry, Alfred," Feliciano burst in, raising his wineglass and tilting it toward the American. "I'm sure Prussia's eyesight will get better soon – we just have to stay optimistic about it."

"How do you do it, Feli?" He chuckled, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead to dig the heels of his hands into his sockets. "People tell me that I'm too happy all the time, but you beat me out any day."

Grinning, the brunette replied, "I have Ludwig with me all the time, and that makes me happy."

His German counterpart blushed.

"Aw, Luddy makes Feli happy, does he?" Alfred couldn't restrain from saying, winking playfully at the taller man. "Isn't that just sweet~?"

Before he could form an indignant reply, Berwald swept into the room.

"L'dw'g?"

"Did you need something?"

The Swede nodded slowly. "'t's 'bout th' 'nf'rm'tion c'ncern'ng th' R'ss'ns."

The three other men fixed him with questioning looks.

"You know more about the Ruskies?"

"Th' 'ne who s'nt th' tip w's 'ne 'f m'wife's c'nt'cts," he explained, looking uncomfortable being the center of so much attention. "B't 'f th't's out, h's pr'b'bly dead n'w."

"Wait... Your wife?" Feliciano asked, hung up on this revelation. With a small frown, he appraised the threatening-looking blonde. "Are you married, Berwald?"

"Yes."

"Not now, Feliciano." Resting a hand on his lover's shoulder, Ludwig inquired, "These contacts… who are they?"

"J'st s'me 'ld fr'nds."

"Did he say anything else?" The bespectacled youth was practically jumping across the table with excitement, giving off the air of one ready to go out and tackle the Russian threat on his own. "What else do you know about these guys? Does their head have, like, a kryptonite or something?"

Berwald cleared his throat, hiding his mouth behind his hand as he spoke. "Mm… I've he'rd th't m'st 'f 'van's s'b'rd'n'tes 're 'g'inst h'm – th'y're h'ld 'n pl'ce b'cause th'y're 'fraid 'f h'm."

"Well, that's how mobs work," Alfred replied, his tone more knowing than one would expect. Ludwig cast him a sharp, searching look. "But they're against him? Huh… usually there're a few nuts who actually respect their boss enough to follow him…"

"Th't's N't'lya."

"The sister?" The German frowned.

"Yes, the sister." Roderich appeared in the doorway with Elizabeta at his elbow. "She was the one who bombed us yesterday evening."

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><p>Tino yawned widely, barely covering his gaping mouth with his hand in time to preserve his dignity. Beside him, his son shifted restlessly in his seat<p>

"Dad, why're we going to the States?"

"We're going to meet your papa," his father replied, smiling at him. "We're going to find out what all this nonsense is about, hm?"

"Is he having an affair?" Peter asked, brows drawn low. "I've heard about them on TV – is he gone to the States for an affair?"

"No," was the swift response. "Your papa's better than something like that. I'm just worried he's gotten himself into something bigger than he first expected."

For a long moment, the boy was silent, watching as his feet swung back and forth above the carpeted floor of the aircraft. Then, finally, he turned to meet the man's pale eyes with unyielding blue. "If someone hurts Papa, I'll kill them."

"What a thing to say!" Tino scolded, glancing around at the other passengers to ensure that no one else had heard the whispered threat. The last thing they needed was to be hauled from the airplane and regarded as potential terrorists.

The moment passed, and Peter became a normal nine-year-old once more. Even so, the Fin could still see his son's fingers turning white as they clutched the armrests.

_Where are you, Berwald? _he found himself wondering desperately, closing his eyes and pretending to be asleep so as not to be bothered by the flight staff. _We need you._


	8. Chapter 8: Setting Out

A/N: Holy crap, this story's still alive! Yeah, I'm sorry... I've been really preoccupied with other projects and this ended up being lower on the priority scale somehow. ^^;

Some new developments and the beginning of the main body of the story.

If Berwald isn't understandable, leave me a comment and I'll see what I can do to fix it.

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><p>Chapter 8: Setting Out<p>

Matthew sat beside the albino man, gnawing anxiously at his thumbnail and trying to come up with something to say that could fill the chilly silence. Gilbert was sulking again, staring blankly at the wall across the room.

"Oh come now, _mon ami_," Francis threw up his hands in exasperation at the other's pointed petulance. "There are much more important things that you might of lost, _non?_"

"And I'm surprised _you_ haven't already lost them," was the bitter retort coupled with a sharp glare in the Frenchman's general direction. "Shut up, Francis."

"Um…" Matthew struggled with his words before he managed, "At least you're better off than Antonio, right?"

The two other men froze, expressions pained.

"He's got a point," the older blonde said finally, flashing a weak smile at the American. "_Povre _Antonio…"

"Have we got any news on him?" Throwing his arms over the back of the sofa, the Gilbert unknowingly looped Matthew into his grasp. "Other than he's still alive and relatively stable?"

"_Non._"

"Figures. The damn hospitals never tell you shit."

"Is Lovino with him, then?"

Francis nodded. "It's quite adorable, really. Such a shame that it took him almost dying to receive so much attention from our little Romano…"

"Tch, no kidding." Cracking a small grin, the German snickered, "How's that fair? I took an actual bullet for the little shit head back home, and I just got yelled at."

"What do you think they're talking about in there?" Matthew broke in, glancing dubiously towards the living room. "Do you think we ought to go in there and listen maybe?"

"If it's important enough, they'll come out and tell us." With this thought, Gilbert's face darkened again. "Not that they'll need me for anything… fucking bastards."

"Still pouting, dude?" Alfred poked his head into the sitting room, regarding the gloomy man with a raised brow. "You know you've got your arm around my brother, right?"

He withdrew the limb quickly, his hand colliding briefly with the blonde's head in its haste to escape.

"Eh, sorry, Matt."

"I-it's no problem." He adjusted his glasses nervously. Then, looking back towards his brother, he asked, "What's going on, Al? Anything new?"

"We're going on a womanhunt," the twin explained. "We've gotta try to track down the Russian asshole's sister and use her as some sorta bargaining chip or something to make him leave Feli the hell alone and all."

"Why's he getting all up in our faces now, anyway?" Gilbert piped up. "I mean, the only thing we've got left is the money. Feli's not actually the head of anything now, 'less you count the greeting staff at the Village Pantry."

"Dude, he's a supermarket greeter?" Grinning like an idiot, Alfred burst out into laughter. "That's so hardcore!"

"That's not answering my question," the albino man grumbled irritably under his breath.

"I dunno – I'm more of a capitalism sorta guy. Thinking like a commie is totally out of my area of expertise."

His brother smirked faintly. "Since when do you have an area of expertise, eh?"

"Oh, Mattie! So cold!"

Coming up silently behind the American, Berwald frowned. "D'd y' t'll 'em?"

"W-well, I was getting to it, big guy!" With a sheepish expression, he cleared his throat. "Y'see, we're splitting up, and the groups are gonna be like this…"

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><p>Ludwig tirelessly scanned the highway, driving on despite his inner frustration with his current situation. Somehow, it had been decided that seizing hold of Ekaterina Braginskaya would be the most effective course of action, and that a family road trip of sorts would be the best method of transportation.<p>

The individual slouched against the passenger side window grunted sleepily as the car hit a pothole and jolted him awake. Blinking owlishly, Gilbert yawned. "We still driving?"

"Yes."

"You miss Feli yet?"

A thick-fingered grip tightened on the steering wheel, but the driver chose not to respond. On this mission of sorts, the family had been deployed in small groups to approach the challenge, and Feliciano had been placed elsewhere under the assumption that the Russians would expect him to be with Ludwig (and the former guard quietly cursed the involvement of a certain American in bringing the point to the others' attentions, regardless of the fact that it was probably true). However, the only member of the family Ludwig had trusted enough to protect his beloved heir was the party's second stoic blonde. Even at that moment, Berwald and Feliciano were out somewhere on that same highway – perhaps only a few cars away – but too far for his liking.

"I hope he hasn't got a thing for those big, blond types, hey West?"

"Shut up, Gilbert," Ludwig snapped, perhaps a little more sharply had he'd intended. "I can still make you walk."

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><p>The calm, familiar light of streetlights overhanging the highway lapped across the otherwise dark car like ocean waves on the sand. Feeling drowsy and hypnotized by the gentle movement of the illumination, Feliciano rested his cheek against the broad strap of the seatbelt.<p>

"G'tt'n' t'red?" Kind, if somewhat restrained, blue eyes glimpsed him from rounded corners. "We c'n f'nd a h'tel s'mewh're."

"Um, if that's okay with you…"

Berwald smiled faintly, just barely crooking his lips. "Y're th' b'ss, M'st'r R'ma-V'rg's."

"Okay then, I guess we should stop for the night."

As they pulled onto the exit, the brunette snuck a curious glance at his temporary companion. He had a sort of resigned, peaceful feel to him (unlike Ludwig's stern, intense atmosphere), and his gentle manner put Feliciano largely at ease even if the heir still shuddered inwardly at the other's stony expression.

"Do you have a family, Berwald?"

"C'll me Sw'd'n." With a quick bob of his head, the blonde replied, "'ve g't a w'fe 'n' a s'n."

The Italian grinned. "Really? What are their names?"

"T'no 'n' P't'r."

"Tina and Peter?"

"T'no."

"Tano?"

"Tino."

"Ah…" Feliciano tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That's an unusual name."

"H's a p'l't'cian."

"He?"

The driver's ears had become quite pink, but his face remained as unchanged as ever. "T'no's a m'n."

"Then why'd you call him your wife?"

"'s a s'cr't."

"Oh, okay." Whistling along to some unheard melody, the brunette tilted his head suddenly and asked, "Where are they now? Tino and Peter, I mean."

"B'ck h'me 'n F'nl'nd." His gaze became quite distant, and the corners of his mouth tightened. Seeing the lit sign of a hotel, he flipped on his blinker and slid into a turn lane without saying another word.


End file.
